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Blacklights
As a disclaimer before you read this, while I was writing this “creepypasta”, I felt sick due to some events and I even contemplated toning down some parts for how sadistic they were. Even though I wanted to, I didn’t modify the original story in any way. Reader, beware; the following is very gory. (ALSO THIS IS LONG) March 3, 1978: 4:30 PM - Town Population: 148 The Simmons family was as normal as a British family could get. There was the father, James, a businessman. The mother, Rebecca, was an aspiring artist. Twin sisters Ashley and Ashlyn were polar opposites. And then there was the youngest child, a 15-year-old boy named Mathias. Unlike his family, who had dark hair and eyes, Mathias was ginger with pale blue eyes. His family had clean faces, he had freckles and pimples. His family was always bright and happy, he was serious and gloomy. He hated everyone. He hated how his sisters were generic bipolar twins. He hated how his father had a perfect smile. He hated how his mother had perfect speech. He hated that his life was perfect. While his dad was reading in the dining room and his mother was helping his sisters with homework in the study, Matt went to get something from the kitchen. March 4, 1978: 12:24 PM - Town Population: 144 All of the Simmons family was dead. The father was hanging from the ceiling of the kitchen, rope tied to a chandelier above the table, which was flipped on its side. Ashlyn’s body was sitting lifeless on the study floor, her entrails sprawled out on the hardwood. The mother had been found dead in the bathroom with missing eyes, and Ashley had her neck slit. Mathias wasn’t found at the scene; he was declared as a missing person 2 hours later. The words, “Perfect family/Perfect death” was written on the back of the house. May 21, 1978: 11:06 PM - Town Population: 137 Mathias sat below the streetlight, which had a blacklight instead of the usual blinding yellow of the other lights. His neon-blue hoodie shone in the low corona; the luminescence of the jacket hid the dirty stains of red imprinted on it. His hood hid his freckled face, his ginger hair masking his livid blue eyes. Matt didn’t have the bright, knowledgable eyes he had a few months ago; the sweet sky blue that was once there had since been washed away and replaced with an emotionless blue-gray, which was accompanied by a piercing stare that could stop someone’s heart. Matt quickly glanced upward at the sound of a roaring engine. The lights from a black SUV was the only thing that disturbed the effect of the neon glow. Matt lifted his wrist, which was armed with a spiked bracelet. One of the spikes shot out from the wristband, shattering through the glass and spearing the man who was driving in the skull. Matt smiled, happy with his kill. He walked over to the trunk of the car and opened it. Inside, he found a small briefcase, some groceries, and a canvas. Remembering his mother, Matt punched the canvas in the center, breaking it. He then picked up the leather suitcase and groceries and wandered off down the street. August 25, 1981: 1:27 AM - Town Population: 55 In the past 3 years, 82 people were declared either dead by impalation or missing. Matt read the newspaper, scoffed, and dropped it on the ground. Quickly, he reloaded his bracelet and traveled through the humble village he lived in. He made sure to stop at every streetlight and replaced the bulbs with blacklights he had stolen from a machinist back in June. Eventually, he stopped as a dog snapped from behind a fence. It was a slavering, gruesome beast, something that would typically be called a guard dog. He scowled at the animal, then wandered to the back window of the home. A loud sound of glass breaking, followed by shrieks… then silence. Matt headed to the upper level, which laid an empty girl’s room. In the corner, he saw a figure. He laughed at the shadow of a little girl who was hiding. “You can’t hide from me, you little brat.” It was a small child, around the age of 5. He quickly put the girl out of her misery, then climbed the ladder to the attic. There, he was met by what looked to be the father. He looked to be around 10 years older than Matt and was carrying a shotgun. “Don’t you come any closer. I already called the cops!” He said. Matt laughed at the man’s senseless efforts to defend himself. “That was a mistake, sir.” The lightbulb that was illuminating the room flickered, but then switched off entirely. Blood stained the wooden floor as Matt appeared behind the man and stabbed him in the chest. An insane, maniacal laugh sounded from Matt’s throat. The lightbulb flickered to a blacklight, the only trace of Matt left being the message written on the back of the house. “Perfect family/Perfect death.” September 2, 1981: 3:01 AM - Town Population: 7 Everyone in town was dead. At least, almost everyone. Only those with perfect lives were targeted. The last few survivors were an old man, a widowed woman, and a divorced couple with 2 children. The town was very rural, so the police were over 5 miles away, and any attempt at calling the cops would end in one less person in the village. By now, Matt was getting less patient with how the survivors were adapting to their new way of life. Hell, their lives were getting better each day. The people that Matt decided to spare out of pity were becoming the one thing the rest of the town was killed for. They were becoming perfect. Matt, filled with rage, barged into the house of the widowed lady and stabbed her in the shoulder with a pocket knife. She screamed, begging him to leave her alone, but her pleas were cut short. With a maniacal smirk, he drove his knife into her eyes and left her to bleed to death. The divorced wife and one of their children were found mutilated in their kitchen to the horror of the other child. September 3, 1981: 2:18 AM - Town Population: 4 That’ll teach them. Matt thought as he finished writing a message in the middle of the road: “Perfection is a sin; that will be righted with death. All who dare oppose; will take their final breath.” Next to the text, he dragged the bodies of the widow, the child, and the ex-wife out onto the street. He then left the town, moving to a more urban area nearby. September 4, 1981: 12:00 PM - Town Population: 0 No one was left in the small, rural town. All who were there had either moved out or died. Matt was nowhere in sight. The once lively town, filled with perfect people living perfect lives, now was a ghost town. At night, however, the streets that crisscrossed through the village lit up with blacklights, adding an eerie, sadistic glow to the blood-soaked township. Category:Crappypasta Category:Deletion Log Refugees Category:OCs Category:Well, that was anticlimactic. Category:POINTLESS VIOLENCE TOTALLY MAKES IT SCARY U GUIZE